Fetishize and empathise.

I do fetishize her, too much, as a body. Her soft hair, vulnerable figure, delicate. Can I list the things other than that that I adore about her? She's generous, to a fault, I worry that she doesn't stick up for herself with her terrible friends that don't help her. Though I wouldn't separate her from them for the world; I think she likes our friendship group more, but the terribles that play games with her mind lurk about the peripheries.

She'll be the first to jump in, into mud, into water, into exercise. Whenever she does something it's with no regard to mess and to ultimate excess.

She's clever. She tries to hide her disappointment and what she truly thinks, and I like this about her; it's a kind of stoicism that's permeable.

She tries so hard at relationships with her brothers, who she evidently idolises. I worry that it isn't a two-way street, but then, nothing is ever absolutely equal.

She's driven. She will stick with what she's promised until she goes down with it.

She's trustworthy. I trust her. It's not difficult; and she almost always says the right thing.

We can be silent companionable together, reading under her duvet or watching a film or eating or simply sitting. It is alright for us to be utterly still. I crave and adore that time.

We go on walks and find things. She likes novelty as I do.

She can find her way on a tram in a foreign city.

She's easily hurt. This is not a good point; it makes her impatient and harmed, and sensitively self centred, but I like her for it nontheless because it is what makes her her. I know that it is a fault; but noone is perfect. Not everyone can have a hard skin.

I could think of more. It's easier than I imagined, though not so easy as sinking into her arms would be.

Remember me when I am gone away...